


The Rest is Confetti

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aged Up NCT Dream, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Horror, Body Horror, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Huang Ren Jun/Park Jisung, Minor Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Minor Mark Lee/Zhong Chen Le
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There's a space on the middle bench in Mark's crappy old seven-seater that he bought for the exact purpose of fitting them all into it and the air feels cold even after Jeno turned the heater up.The house looks much like when they left it ten years ago.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 56
Collections: Anonymous





	The Rest is Confetti

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who ever encouraged my obsession with this particular AU, past or present, I don't think I would've had the courage to write this otherwise.  
> Also, thank you to the Little Wonder mods who set all of this up to begin with!
> 
> If you haven't watched or read The Haunting of Hill House, rest assured that I haven't either (because ironically enough I can't stomach horror) so it isn't a requirement to understand what happens in this fic! 
> 
> The title is borrowed from Nell Crain's heart-wrenching monologue in episode ten of the Netflix series.

“Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut;  
silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”

Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

They arrive with the fading light of day, still dressed in black. Renjun's hand feels small and limp in Jisung's but he refuses to let go anyway. There's a space on the middle bench in Mark's crappy old seven-seater that he bought for the exact purpose of fitting them all into it and the air feels cold even after Jeno turned the heater up.

The house looks much like when they left it ten years ago. Jisung doesn't remember much about what happened, only how they didn't even turn the lights off. Renjun's hair was still sopping wet from his shower, Chenle stumbled and fell on the way down the front steps. Mark's fingers were so tightly wound around the steering wheel that his knuckles turned white, Donghyuck was pale as he sat there, holding his backpack tightly to his chest as they drove away and even now Jisung can still hear the harrowing sound of Jaemin stifling his sobs into Jeno's chest on the seats furthest in the back. 

That night went unmentioned afterwards but he knows that neither of them could ever forget. 

And now they're back. Jisung still expected the lights to be on and the door to be unlocked just the way they'd left it but of course, the house sits there, dark and silent and lifeless. Their first stop after their rushed flight was the police station in the nearby town and after Jaemin had reported the body between painful sobs they'd been told that the authorities would look into it and been sent off to a little nearby guest house. None of them had slept, even after an officer had stopped by their room to confirm the body and thank them for their cooperation.

"The lights–" Jisung had asked meekly. The officer had been busy talking to Mark so he hadn't heard but Renjun's fingers had threaded through his hair and pulled him closer. It'd been a little uncomfortable to contort himself like that, Jisung too big to rest his head against Renjun's chest with them both sitting backs to the wall but he'd done it anyway. He'd let Renjun stroke his hair and kiss the top of his head.   
"The police was there, I'm sure they turned the lights off. They look after the law, I'm sure they wouldn't just leave the house without doing it."

At twenty-nine, Jisung isn't that sure about these claims anymore but it doesn't matter. There are no lights behind the windows. The house has been left to rot ever since their visit, the old couple that had rented it out to them passing away without an heir. There is no electricity, no water. The lights haven't been on for a long time.  
It's quiet in the driveway, even though they're surrounded by greenery. All Jisung can hear is Donghyuck quietly talking to Jeno and the rustle of Chenle's suit as he burrows himself into Mark's side. Renjun's hand is small and limp and sweaty in his own but Jisung refuses to let go.

He misses Jaemin.  
  


🏚

"Is this the spot?"   
There is nothing suspicious about the floorboards where Mark's torch casts a round circle of light. Jisung knows it's not about the floor anyway but he's scared of lifting his head.   
"Yep," Jeno confirms grimly. "They left the noose up."   
Hearing it said out loud makes it feel more real. Jisung feels his stomach churn.   
"That's cruel," Renjun whispers.

"I still don't get it," Donghyuck mutters. He's the only one of them to have shucked the jacket of his funeral suit, having traded it for one of Jaemin's bomber jackets instead.   
"Everything was finally going better! He was in treatment, he looked so happy-" His voice dies in his throat and Jeno steps to his side and wraps an arm around his shoulders.   
"Don't take the blame on yourself," Jeno begs quietly. "I should've seen it too."   
"We all should've," Mark adds softly. Chenle nods emphatically and from where he's standing next to Jisung, Renjun sobs. Jisung doesn't know what to do.

He wants to scream and shout at the unfairness of it all, that Jaemin would be the one to leave first.    
"Jaemin would've never shown us his sadness," he speaks up shakily.   
"He never wanted to see any of us sad. Even when you found out about the–"  _ The drinking, the cutting _ , the words all stay stuck in Jisung's throat as if swallowing them will make them less real.   
"Even when you found out," he tries again, eyes on Jeno and Donghyuck. "He only told you because there was no other way. Because you'd see the scars. Because you were going to live together and he couldn't have hidden it any longer."  
Jisung's mouth feels dry like someone stuffed it with cotton.

"I think he'd be upset if he heard you taking the blame."   
Donghyuck looks furious when he lifts his head, eyes blazing even in the greyed-out last bits of twilight shining through the windows.   
"Oh, and who do you suggest we blame, then?" He hisses. His tone is sharp and scrapes against Jisung's heart like barbs. Renjun inhales next to him as if to step in but Jisung squeezes his fingers. He doesn't want his boyfriend fighting his battles, not ever but especially not over this.

"Not yourselves. Not him. Maybe–"   
Somewhere in the floor above the wind howls through a badly isolated window.   
_ Maybe the house _ .  _ Maybe the summer ten years ago _ .   
"No maybes," Jisung corrects himself. "Just. It's not your fault. He'd be upset if he heard you say that."

Immediately, all fight seems to leave Donghyuck's body. Next to him, Jeno's shoulders sag too, a bone-tired resignation settling on his handsome features. For a moment he looks much older than thirty-one.  
"Jisung is right," Mark breaks the uncomfortable silence.   
"We–"

And then the torch dies. Without as much of a warning flicker, it goes from brightly illuminating the spot where Jaemin died to completely dead in Mark's hand. Jisung jolts and if it weren't for Renjun's hand finding the small of his back and keeping him upright he would've fallen.   
Chenle's yelp feels too loud in the empty house, echoing off the bare walls.   
"Fuck–" Mark hisses and shakes the torch. It stays silent and dark in his hand. "I swear I put in new batteries–"

Somewhere in the top floor, high above their heads something creaks. Jisung stiffens.   
"Oh no."   
"It probably was just the wind–" Donghyuck begins his sentence before being interrupted by a door slamming.   
"It wasn't me," Chenle attempts to joke. No one reacts.   
"You think people would break in here?" Jeno whispers.  
"Isn't that what we're doing?" Renjun shoots back, voice laced with hysteria.

"Don't go."   
"Go where?"   
Jisung doesn't question the voice until he blinks and sees his friends looking at him, one expression more confused than the one before.   
"Go?"   
"What?"  
Renjun squeezes his fingers again, his brows creased with worry. His face gets harder and harder to make out in the dark.

"Didn't one of you–"   
The realization is as painful as an electric shock. None of the other's voices match the timbre and the raspiness.    
"I thought– I thought I heard Jaemin," he admits slowly. Fear trickles down his spine, cold and biting like ice water. Anywhere else he would've chalked it up to the lingering shock. It's only been six days since Jeno called him and Renjun at four in the morning, voice soft and thick with unshed tears, to inform them that Jaemin was gone, five since they'd received word that he'd been found dead, hung from a roof support beam in a house none of them had dared to approach in a decade.

But here, wrapped into the fabric of the past, everything strange and terrible seems so much more possible. Jisung expects Donghyuck to reprimand him again, he's been aggressive in his mourning and not even Jeno's passive, tired attempts at calming him have been successful.   
Instead, they all remain silent, eyes wide. Renjun's fingers are clammy in Jisung's hand.

"Let's go look," Mark decides. He's always been their unspoken leader, even when him and Donghyuck fought during that summer in high school, even after not seeing him for a year and a half because he and Chenle were so busy going back and forth between Vancouver and Shanghai to visit much.   
Donghyuck nods, pulling Jaemin's jacket tighter around his body. Even the vibrant pink fabric looks dull as if the shadows swallowed the colour.   
"Let's," Jeno agrees. His voice is cold, hard, as if all of his anger over the loss was compressed into one single word.

"Don't," Jisung hears the voice again.   
"Don't go."   
It comes from behind him, frantic and soft and impossibly sad. It's a voice he could imagine belonging to someone who'd rather die than remain in this world for another second.

He doesn't turn around.

🏚

The upstairs looks like Jisung remembers it bathed in summer warmth: big rooms with white walls, most doors left closed. The sliding windows in the hallway open up to an ocean view he spent hours staring at with Renjun — in fact, it's where he confessed, too, where they kissed and where Renjun smacked his shoulder for  _ taking so long _ .   
It feels like a cruel cosmic joke that such a fond memory would rest right next to how Jisung imagines Jaemin's body swaying gently, multiple feet above ground, neck bent and broken.

They carefully go through from room to room, one after the other but nothing looks amiss. Jisung takes great care not to enter any of them and when Renjun makes a move to follow Jeno past the threshold he lets out a pitiful whimper, pulling his boyfriend back by his wrist. Renjun looks a little exasperated but stays. He's always been the braver one out of the two of them.  
They pass their old bedrooms one after the other, finding only dust and a gaping feeling of emptiness. Donghyuck kicks a chair on his way out, scuffing the lacquer of his Oxfords but it doesn't seem to do much to make him feel better at all.

The door left ajar comes closer and closer. They check the bathroom (empty), then the terrace (empty) and then there are only two rooms left. They open the closed door first, Mark's torch raised like a weapon, just in case.   
But like every other room they've peered into, this one, too, is empty.   
Maybe it's because every step of theirs has led into nothingness that Jisung leans in closer, dares to push a little further. Renjun is already in, pulling Jisung's centre of gravity just far enough to rest over the doorway.

The pair of hands against his shoulders is big and familiar. Jisung feels dread first, then a crushing, horrifying longing for these exact hands and how they held his through nights spent awake studying for his finals and pushed his hair out of his face when he'd caught that ugly cold after his birthday three years ago.

Jisung stumbles, then falls to his knees. It all happens so fast, he can't even scream or let go of Renjun's hand before he pulls him along too.

Behind him, the door clicks shut.  
  


🏚

By the time Jisung's eyes adjust to the darkness all he can think about is that they're well, truly and oh so very royally  _ fucked _ .   
"What happened?!" Chenle shrieks somewhere far too close for comfort. They're all huddled around him and Renjun, Donghyuck checking for injuries still his first response even when he's off duty. Jeno helps Jisung up, steadying him gently by the shoulders.  
"I– suddenly– someone  _ shoved me _ –"   
Words are hard and treacherous and Jisung gives up after the third stumble over the same consonant. Behind them, the door rattles as if something heavy is battering against it. He wraps himself around Renjun almost on instinct even though inside he feels paper-thin and scraped raw.

"I had to," a voice chimes. It's warm and soft and so sad that it steals Jisung's breath.  
This time, they all turn to face Na Jaemin standing by the window. He's facing them, pale skin, eyes empty and white and unseeing, neck bent at an unnatural angle.    
Outside something rattles the doorknob and Jisung flinches but the wood doesn't yield.   
"It's okay. The house is angry. It wanted you."  
"We're still inside," Mark finally dares to reply. He sounds lost and scared in a way Jisung has only witnessed him once before.  
"Not the right place."  
This is all the explanation they seem to be allowed to have. They take it.

Next to Jisung, Jeno and Donghyuck are still frozen on the spot. It's only when Jaemin turns to face them in particular that life seems to return to their forms, a sob tearing from Jeno's throat. Donghyuck clings to his jacket.   
"Oh, love," Jaemin breathes. He doesn't move but even with his face bathed in shadows Jisung thinks he catches a glimpse of regret, cutting deep and leaving their only just scabbing wounds open and burning all over again.

"Jaemin."

The way Donghyuck says his name, laced with longing and so, so, so much pain ties Jisung's throat shut. A ghost of a smile flickers over Jaemin's face.

"Hyuckie. Nono." His head turns. The movement looks grotesque, unreal, like his body shouldn't be able to do that.   
"Mark. Lele. Injun."  
The tightness around Jisung's windpipe eases. He sobs.   
"Jisungie."

Jisung has a thousand questions burning on the tip of his tongue. He can't imagine what it must be like for Donghyuck or Jeno, who were left behind with nothing but the knowledge that their lover came here to find his end.   
They get none of that. The door trembles, the knob rattles with urgency. The softness of the moment is gone.

"I can't hold it off for long. It's already had me, I'm no longer interesting."   
Jaemin's voice is soft but determined. Jisung's fingers interlace with Renjun's.   
"You have to promise me to run and not look back. Can you do that?"  
The door shakes under yet another thud.   
"Jaemin–" Jeno speaks up, desperate.   
"Promise me."

Jaemin's voice is silk and steel at the same time, piercing and hard and beautiful.   
"Promise," Chenle whispers. One after the other they follow until Jisung's whisper dissipates into the air.   
_ Promise _ .

"I will count to three and then the door will open and you will run," Jaemin continues. "Down the hallway, down the stairs, out the door. And no matter what, you can't look back. Get into the car, drive away."

"What about you?"   
Jisung knows Donghyuck wants to ask it, it's written all over his face. But he can't.    
So Jisung asks for him instead.

"I'll always be with you."   
Jaemin's face softens.   
"No matter where I go, no matter where I die, I will always be where I belong. With you."  
Jisung's eyes burn. He shakes his head. No tears, not now.

"Now. One."   
Jaemin has crossed the room before they can even realize. They all scramble to their feet.   
He waits, a smile on his face.   
_ Farewell _ , Jisung thinks.   
"Farewell," Renjun rasps. Jaemin laughs.   
"Two."   
Jisung's body feels like his veins are filled with static, lightning.

"Three."

🏚

They burst through the doorway, down the hall. Behind them something crashes and Jaemin screams. Donghyuck wails in pain but Jeno keeps his head bent, drags him along.  
They fly down the stairs, through the living room. Chenle almost stumbles on the steps leading down the front door into the garden. They pile into the car in a mess of bodies, Renjun on Jisung's lap, squished into too little space for too many men.

Mark floors the pedal.   
And behind them, the house recedes, turns smaller and smaller with every curve down the cliff they take until it looks so small that one could never think that so much sadness and horror could fit into it.

Chenle's bottom lip is split. When they stop for drinks and a bathroom break twenty kilometres outside of Seoul, Mark buys him an ice pop and wraps it in napkins to cool the spot before kissing it better. Donghyuck's eyes are rimmed as red as the tip of Jeno's nose but neither of them is crying anymore. In Jisung's lap Renjun looks small and impossibly exhausted.

"Sleep," Jisung whispers into his ear.   
"But Jaemin–"   
Jisung thinks of the scream, about how so much pain hid behind that gentle smile of his.   
"Dream of Jaemin. He'll protect your dreams too, I'm sure."

🏚

On the hill the house still remains, hungry and silent, seething.  
Na Jaemin stands where the ground floor opens up into a staircase, a noose hanging overhead. The house holds onto him desperately.

_ Don't go _ .

"Home," Jaemin's voice echoes through the living room, "Is where the heart is. Mine is not here."

_ Don't go _ .

The windows rattle in their frames, the walls quake.  _ Lonely _ , Jaemin thinks,  _ the house is lonely _ . Loneliness is a feeling he understands well.

"Please. Let me go home."  
He closes his eyes and waits for the darkness to swallow him.  
"Please."


End file.
